LAURA
He doesn't text.
He just shows up.
The Land Cruiser is parked in the same far corner of the lot, like it was last time. Like he doesn't do anything halfway.
And my pulse changes.
He's inside this time, hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes forward. Not on his phone. Not distracted.
Waiting.
When I open the passenger door, he looks at me immediately.
"Hi."
His voice is steady.
Too steady.
"Hi."
I slide in and close the door. The air inside feels warmer than outside, like the world shrank to fit just us.
For a second, neither of us moves.
He's still looking at me.
Not casually.
Fully.
Like he's been holding something in all day.
His gaze drops briefly — to my lips — then back to my eyes.
Slow.
Measured.
He lifts a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger at my jaw, warm against my skin.
He studies my face for a heartbeat longer.
Like he's making sure I'm okay.
Like he's making sure I'm still here.
Then he leans in.
No warning.
No rush.
The kiss is firm but unhurried, his mouth warm and certain against mine. It's not hungry — it's controlled. Like he's choosing exactly how much to give.
His hand slides from my jaw to the side of my neck, thumb steady beneath my ear, anchoring me there.
I melt into it before I can think.
He deepens the kiss just slightly — enough to make my breath catch — but he doesn't lose control.
He never does.
After a moment, he pulls back first.
Of course he does.
His forehead hovers close to mine. His eyes don't close.
They stay on me.
Soft.
Intense.
"I didn't see you all day," he says quietly.
"You skipped."
"Yes."
His thumb traces once along my cheekbone, almost absent.
Then he leans back into his seat, composure sliding back into place like armor.
"You good?" he asks.
"I was going to ask you that."
A faint shift at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile.
"I'm functional," he says.
That again.
He pulls out of the lot smoothly. No music. Just the low hum of the engine.
"Court?" I ask.
"Initial appearance was yesterday," he says. "Bail hearing tomorrow."
"Will he get out?"
"Probably," Jae says evenly. "With conditions."
It's the way he says it. No bitterness. No anger.
Just assessment.
"And you're okay with that?"
He glances at me briefly. "It doesn't change what's coming."
Which means he's confident.
Or prepared.
Or both.
We drive in silence for a minute.
The sky is overcast again. Not storming. Just heavy.
I study his profile.
"You look different," I say.
"Different how?"
"Lighter."
That makes him glance at me again.
"I don't feel lighter," he says.
"No?"
"No."
He turns onto a quieter road, trees lining both sides.
"I feel aligned," he adds after a moment.
That word lands.
Aligned.
"With what?" I ask.
"With the version of myself I can live with."
That's the most honest thing he's said.
I lean back in my seat.
"Are you scared?" I ask.
"Of what?"
"Retaliation. Media. Lawyers. Him."
He's quiet for a beat.
"Not for me," he says.
"For your sister?"
"Yes."
The single word is solid.
I nod.
"You did something most people wouldn't," I say.
"I did something I should've done years ago."
The air shifts slightly.
Years ago.
There's something in that.
"Why didn't you?" I ask gently.
He doesn't answer right away.
The car slows as we approach a red light.
"Because I wasn't in a position to survive it," he says finally.
The light turns green.
We keep driving.
He exhales softly.
"There are still things I need to explain," he says.
My stomach tightens.
"About?"
"Before," he says. "Not just about the money."
The road narrows.
Clouds darken slightly overhead.
My heartbeat ticks up.
"Okay," I say carefully.
He pulls into a turnout, engine idling.
He doesn't look at me right away.
"I need you to understand something first," he says.
"Okay."
"I didn't do any of this impulsively."
"I didn't think you did."
"And I didn't get close to you for a reason."
That makes me still.
"What does that mean?"
His jaw tenses.
"It means you weren't part of a plan."
The relief that moves through me surprises me.
"I didn't think I was," I say.
"I needed you to know that," he says.
The sky rumbles faintly in the distance.
Thunder.
Soft. Far away.
I take a deep breath. "Here you are again," I say softly, voice tight but steady. "Telling me things… without actually telling me anything."
He doesn't answer right away. He just watches me, eyes calm, unreadable.
He swallows. The corner of his mouth twitches. "I'm trying to protect you," he says quietly.
I reach out, fingers brushing his hand on the console. "I know you are. But keeping me in the dark doesn't feel safe. It just… makes it harder."
He looks at me, and I can see the pain in his eyes. "Okay," he says, nodding.
"Laura, the night…"
The car phone rings sharply, slicing through the quiet. He grabs it instinctively.
"Jae," a voice says immediately, clipped and urgent. "She didn't make it home. Jessica… she's gone."
Time freezes. My pulse spikes.
He grips the wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward. "Gone?" His voice is steady, but every line in his body screams alert.
"Yes," the voice continues. "She's not at the house… The cameras show her playing inside, then going to the bathroom… and then gone."
"Shit."
I reach out instinctively, brushing my hand over his arm. "Jae… hey."
He doesn't look at me. His jaw flexes. "I… I don't know where she—"
I take a deep breath, steadying my own racing heart. "We'll find her. She's not gone, not really. We'll find her."
He nods, tight, controlled, but just a little less tense.
I watch him drive, my stomach twisting.
He'll find her. He has to. He's Jae.